


Ink Barbs

by orphan_account



Series: Skyhold Covered in Feathers [2]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Wings, M/M, So to say, doesn't actually get smutty even though they end up in the bedroom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 13:25:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4668197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Impromptu (not) grooming sessions for birds. </p>
<p>(Or, how to not completely destroy the mood when your partner knocks over an inkwell while undressing on their desk.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ink Barbs

In Dorian’s experience, sex is a hasty affair, and hidden. Sex is interesting if they have the time to figure out new positions that don’t involve lost feathers or a sprained wing, or if both parties are into a bit of magic on the fingers. It’s all well and good. It’s not meant to include spilled ink, though.

That thought never crosses Dorian’s mind, however. They’re behind locked doors in Cullen’s office, as safely hidden as they’re going to get in Skyhold, and Cullen has done nothing but tempt him since the first bolt was turned – smirking and flaring his wings and _presenting_ – showing off the subtle hues of brown and gold patterning his entire wingspan – and Dorian would laugh if it weren’t for that the force of it wouldn’t break their kiss.

He thought he was supposed to be the bad man here, but Cullen is so delightfully willing to break out of his awkward Chantry boy image.

A chuckle manages to escape when Cullen draws back to breathe.

“What’s funny?” Cullen asks, hiding any uncertainty by dipping down to press kisses at the nape of Dorian’s neck.

“Hah, you are,” Dorian sighs, tipping his head back as Cullen’s warm lips move up his neck. “No vows of celibacy for you, I take it?”

“Even if I had, I’m not in the Order anymore,” Cullen says. His hands settle firmly on Dorian’s hips, as if to prove his point, and he shuffles backwards, tugging Dorian with him until they reach his desk.

Dorian goes, kissing him hard, and continues to press – gently, not enough to put unwanted pressure on Cullen’s tail feathers but just enough to spur Cullen up.

Cullen has different ideas. He hums into Dorian’s lips and rolls his hips, grinding against Dorian – and then he breaks away with a soft hiss on the backward movement when he traps his own feathers between his backside and the edge of his desk.

Dorian almost rolls his eyes, but he’s distracted from the mistake almost immediately when Cullen growls and reaches back with one hand to clear enough space on his desk before sweeping his tail feathers up and over, then hopping up himself. He pulls Dorian closer again, and this time Dorian is all too happy to reciprocate, fitting himself snugly between Cullen’s legs. He runs his hands along Cullen’s thighs to his hips, squeezing through the layers, and Cullen moans and grinds back against him again. His wings flutter and spread out, not quite as far as when Dorian asked if he was truly interested, but far enough to curve around the two of them.

Dorian’s wings arch up behind him, brushing Cullen’s as they unfurl. Cullen leans back to admire them for a few seconds before Dorian pulls him back by the strap of his armour hidden under the lining of his coat.

“This _does_ come off, right?” Dorian asks, testing the give of the strap. “Please tell me is actually comes off.”

“Yes,” Cullen chuckles. “I certainly don’t sleep in it.”

“I don’t know if you sleep at all. But get this off and I’ll spare you the trouble of my robes.”

“Deal.”

Dorian retreats so that they can work on their respective belts and buckles, both eager to get close again. The rest of Cullen’s desk is cleared when Cullen pulls his coat off, several papers and an empty bottle getting dragged to the floor as the coat flies across to the chair behind the desk. After that, the armour comes off with practiced ease, and Cullen isn’t even looking at it. His sights are set on Dorian, eyes dark and pupils going wide.

Dorian lets the outer layer of his robe fall to the floor and tugs his shirt off, and then immediately slips between Cullen’s thighs again, intent on getting as close as possible despite their not being fully naked yet.

Before he can get very far, however, he notices that Cullen has gone still. He’s stopped half way out of his shirt, only one of the clasps at his back undone and half his torso exposed. Even his wings seem stiff.

“What is it?” Dorian asks, hesitant to reach out. “Cullen?”

Is there a hideous scar? Or is it nothing physical at all? Perhaps he’s having second thoughts about sleeping with a mage, Dorian thinks. Or perhaps –

Cullen turns suddenly and lifts his wings out of his sight as he stares at something on his desk. “Maker’s breath, damn it.”

Dorian takes this as his opening. “What happened?” He follows Cullen’s line of sight, confused. Then he sees the inkwell turned on its side, its hap having rolled onto the floor, leaving an inky trail behind. The rest of the ink has spread across Cullen’s desk, seeping into the seat of Cullen’s trousers and –

Dorian barely holds a gasp. “Oh.”

– and three of Cullen’s beautiful tail feathers have been spattered with ink.

Cullen curses again and tears his shirt off, balling it up in his hand as he slides off his desk. “Just what we were missing, of course.”

Dorian remembers a party he attended years ago as Cullen contorts himself to press his feathers into his shirt. Or rather, a mishap involving wine in a guest room during the party. “Maker’s – we need water. It’ll come right off if we rinse it now, no?”

“Up above,” Cullen says.

Dorian flaps his wings a couple times to get a jumpstart up the ladder. He almost sighs when he gets up – of course the commander chose to roost directly above his own office, and of course there’s a tree growing through the ceiling – but makes straight for the small basin and folded cloths in the corner. He laughs inwardly; for all that it seemed they wouldn’t get past his desk, Cullen had prepared.

Cullen himself arrives in the loft in nothing but his smalls, which he strips off to inspect the splotch on his rear. “At least this I can cover up. Pass me one of those cloths.”

“I have a better idea. Instead of doubling yourself over and inevitably missing a spot, you sit down and I’ll get it out.” Dorian points to the collection of blankets and pillows that is so utilitarian in its formation that he isn’t sure he even wants to call it a nest.

Cullen is completely naked and yet he still manages to look innocently surprised, cheeks flushing and all. “Ah, you don’t need to trouble–“

“This is partially my fault anyway,” Dorian cuts in, gesturing to the nest again. “The longer you stand there the more likely you’ll be stained, you know. We can’t have the Inquisition’s Commander wandering around with ink stained tail feathers, can we?”

Cullen grimaces. “Josephine would have a fit and the barracks would never forget it.”

“Chop, chop, then.” Dorian knows exactly the sort of jokes that would come about if anyone caught wind of this now. They could explain a splotch on the wing, anyone would understand and they could get away with minimal joking, but the tail was another thing. He busies himself with dragging the basin closer to the nest, and Cullen wipes the ink off his skin with the leg of his trousers before tossing them and his smalls aside. He settles on the edge of his nest, letting his tail feathers spread over the floor boards.

“It sounds like this has happened to you before,” Cullen says as Dorian works the ink out with one of the cloths and handfuls of water.

Dorian recalls the party again, and the twenty minutes of casting ice spells and melting them to get enough water to wash with. “Once, at a party back home, but with wine, and not to me. We had to improvise a little to rinse it out but we managed. Try not to shake out until I’m done.”

“Right.”

Cullen leans forward to pick a pillow out from his nest and holds it over his hap. At the same time, Dorian notices that there are a lot more pillows than he originally thought. Maybe as many as he has lining his own nest, which is somewhat surprising. He also notices tension creeping into Cullen’s posture, his feathers sleeking just slightly too much, and he is determined to not let this become the awkward party mishap, so as he dips the cloth into  the water again he reaches for something to fill the silence.

“This will come off easier than paint, at least.”

“Paint?”

“Yes, a special sort that’s all the rage in Minrathous.”

Cullen folds his wings almost protectively. “You’re not serious. I’ve seen Orlesians fluffed up with jewels half their weight, that’s ridiculous enough –”

“You Fereldans use chalk,” Dorian points out. “To match your dogs.”

“Chalk comes off within the day, but paint? People in Tevinter actually paint their feathers? You must be lying.”

“I’m not,” Dorian insists as he gives one of Cullen’s feathers one last press, leaning close to see if the ink is truly washed out before moving over to the next. “Gold is especially favoured, and it’s all for accenting, mostly. Peacock feather designs are somewhat popular right now, I’ve been told.”

“Did you ever?”

“What, paint my feathers? Maker, no, of course not, I don’t need it. It would ruin my iridescence, you know.”

“I like that,” Cullen murmurs. “Er – about your wings, not the lack of paint, I mean – fetching-”

“Cullen, you are naked and I am cleaning your tail feathers – one down, by the way. I think we can do away with holding back a little.”

“I can finish myself,” Cullen starts. His feathers spread slightly farther and Dorian presses down on his lower back.

“Don’t ruffle your feathers, I said. I have no problem with doing this, I said, seeing as it was partly my fault-“

“I don’t see how, but-“

“-and besides, half of Skyhold would probably kill for this. Really, they would half no qualms over killing me.”

“Well, I would,” Cullen says defensively. Dorian can’t see his face, but he can imagine the furrow in Cullen’s brow. “I wouldn’t have it come to anything like that.”

“How positively chivalrous of you.”

“Ah, I don’t mean to diminish you at all-“

“Relax, you haven’t. Just sit still a little longer, it’s just one more.”

The remaining ink is more concentrated on the last feather, and Dorian is slightly worried that it’s already stained the stem. He grabs the cleaner cloth and dunks it in the water; even though Cullen’s tail feathers are a darker brown than his wings and a stained stem would probably not be noticeable unless someone was looking hard, Dorian isn’t going to half ass it.

“It’s come out faster than I thought it would.”

“It was only spots, mostly,” Dorian says, considering whether or not he should dip the last feather directly in the water. “This one has a somewhat larger splotch, though. But I believe it’ll be fine.”

“Good.” Cullen sighs and his wings relax, feathers lifting into a more contented puff. One wing dips lower so that he can see Dorian over his shoulder. “Not to sound vain, but having ink stained gloves is enough for me. Thank you, Dorian.”

“No thank necessary,” Dorian says. It isn’t as if they’re actually grooming each other tonight, or anything else like that, he thinks. “Something has to be done, seeing as even though you have no clothes, the mood has been effectively ruined.”

Cullen laughs quietly and rubs the back of his neck. “I suppose it has been. Perhaps – another night?”

“Still interested after this mess?” Dorian asks jokingly.

Cullen turns slightly, looking over his shoulder again with a small flare of his wings. “Yes.”

Dorian drops the thought of telling Cullen that he was joking. “Well then, let’s hope your messengers can handle being locked out of your office two nights in a row.”

“I’m sure they’ll manage.” Cullen smirks, and Dorian is distracted for a moment solely by the curve of his lips and the scar intersecting them.

Maker, he thinks, the things he flies into.

Daylight is long gone when the ink is finally rinsed out after one last dunk in the water for all the affected feathers. Dorian has to bring candles closer to see, and though it’s difficult to really tell brown from black on a wet feather, he’s confident that the ink truly is gone.

“Good as new,” he announces.

Cullen twists himself around to see for himself, then smiles at Dorian. “Thank you for sparing me that embarrassment.” He stands up, finally shaking out his feathers, his wings fluttering a bit as well. The he heads to the chest near the other side of the room and pulls out a pair of trousers. “And even though it was, uh, really off the plan,” he spares as glance at the basin and it’s slightly inky water, “I do enjoy your company still.”

“Of course you do, I’m so pretty and charismatic after all,” Dorian says. He suppresses a shiver; with his own wings covering his back and Cullen’s nearby, he’d hardly noticed the chill, but night has fallen and brought colder air with it. “I’ll be retiring somewhere warm, do try not to freeze up here.”

“I’ll survive. Good night, Dorian.”

Cullen still smiles, and Dorian descends from the loft and pulls his clothes back on with Cullen’s face – his smile almost infuriatingly endearing in its crookedness – lingering in his mind.

Maker, he sighs to himself, the things he flies into.

**Author's Note:**

> More wings au, great right? 
> 
> It might look like an aborted smut fic but this was the intention the entire time. Smut's for later. Silly accidents come now because Cullen's a hot mess.
> 
> If there are mistakes I missed them and they're my fault, since it's un-beta'd.


End file.
